


Lifeline

by Jaydeemz



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Major Character Death warning isn't for Q or Bond, Post-Apocalypse, Zombies Run! Au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeemz/pseuds/Jaydeemz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-apocalyptic world, Commander James Bond watches his only friend succumb to the dreaded infection. Now alone and surrounded by villages infested by the creatures, he finds an earpiece that connects him with a man called Q, who's mission becomes bringing Runner 007 home. </p><p>AU inspired by Zombies, Run!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Friend's Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who is familiar with Zombies, Run!: I've only done the first mission, so this story is crafted only by the impression I've had of the storyline. I might use more missions as inspiration, but so far, everything crafted is coming from the first mission. I don't plan on using too many plot points from the app so I don't spoil those who start using it. Zombies, Run! is available on Android and iPhone! I strongly recommend buying the app. 
> 
> **Trigger warning!** This chapter contains the mention of a character's suicide. The paragraphs in question are located between the asterisks in the text so you can jump over it. To skip ahead, please begin at "Bond half expected the...".

He’d been in the Royal Navy, for Christ's sake. He had been trained under the most vigorous sergeants to withstand physical and mental torture on any given day, in any given moment. He'd seen unspeakable things. He knew exactly what to do to wash enemy blood from his clothing in any given situation, and one day found out that metaphorical blood always remained inside his mind. 

Commander James Bond had been made into a weapon, but today, he felt like a toy. 

Nature was dead -- both the environment, and the human nature. Everything was dry, dead, and hopeless. Humanity... Well, that was an entirely different story. One that Bond desperately tried to ignore despite the cruel reality of it all. 

"My head hurts, Bond."

The commander was broken from his reverie, and the familiar sense of dread filled him despite his stoic face. He stood from his spot near the pile of books, burning brightly in order to boil the few mouthful of acidic rain they'd captured over the last week. In a distant past, he would've been ashamed to light a Bible on fire, but paper was flammable, and fire meant safe water, and water meant life. 

The water wasn't boiling yet, so he made his way to the dirty blanket splayed on the grimy floor of the warehouse. A figure was huddled there, eyes glassy and hair overdue for a cut. James knelt beside him, and without asking permission, lifted his left pant leg to look at the wound. 

The swollen gash was still oozing a liquid that looked like old blood but smelled like upcoming death. 

"The headache is the first sign, isn't it?" The gruff voice was unmistakably terrified; Bond avoided his eyes at all cost. 

"Go to sleep, Trevelyan," Bond ordered, forcing the concern from his voice as he tugged the pant leg over the gash. "Let your body fight the infection." 

He left the other man there, but a glance glance at Alec’s wide eyes testified that he wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon. Minutes passed, and the water boiled, although Alec violently shook his head whenever Bond offered him the drink. He only accepted the very last sip, whispering that contamination -- "Stop saying that, Trevelyan!" and "It's a possibility, Bond, you saw what bit me!" -- could occur by sharing a cup. Alec finally swallowed the mouthful of precious water, sighed with contentment, and then was violently sick a second after. 

He was deteriorating.

Absolute silence followed that terrible moment. Eventually, Alec closed his eyes and stilled, aside from an occasional shudder. The only movements were caused by the beads of sweat rolling from his brow as his body heated with fever. 

Bond locked the warehouse and double-checked that his own weapon was loaded. He extinguished the flames and sat in the darkness, letting exhaustion overtake him as he murmured, "You won’t be left behind, Alec. These monsters won’t win." 

He fell asleep praying that the creatures wouldn't discover the abandoned building they'd claimed as their own. 

***

The gunshot woke Bond at dawn. Despite the crucial need for immediate silence, the commander let himself scream when he saw Alec slump to the ground just a foot beside him. He was holding James's gun, and as the precious last bullet made quick work of Alec Trevelyan’s life, Bond reached hesitantly for what was left of his friend. 

The crazed eyes and pale, already rotting skin left no doubt that Trevelyan had been hours away from his fate, and he had decided to rewrite his own ending.

No one could blame him.

***

Bond half expected the...

Mutants? Zombies? The undead? 

Bond half expected _them_ to come for him after the gunshot, but ironically, none seemed to be close enough to bother. He took his time burying his friend, and paid his respects, reciting as much of the Navy’s funeral rites as he remembered. He ignored the painful grate of every swallow until the scorching sun made him move. He couldn’t let his guard down now. 

He packed his empty gun, the small pot and stakes to boil his water, and the last two matches he owned into the small backpack he'd found in the warehouse two days ago. He scanned the place once or twice before setting off toward the nearest town, which was West of where he’d been staying with Alec. 

It was a self-destructive idea at best, but Bond didn't want to become one of them. While the village would most certainly be crawling with zom-- them, Bond knew that they weren't interested in guns. The police or sheriff station would most likely have bullets, and Bond could emulate Trevelyan if it came down to it. 

When he arrived at the town’s outskirts hours later, he felt like a dead man walking himself. He heard moans in the distance, ghastly sounds that he recognized too well after being chased by them for months now, and felt his shoulders slump. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, and the sparse amount of water he’d taken in only added to the exhaustion. His feet dragged through the soft sand as he entered the town nonetheless. 

There was a movement to his left, followed by a soft moan. Without looking, Bond brandished his empty gun, and growled, “Don’t.” 

For one precious second, the zombie stopped approaching and hesitated, and it was all that it took for the commander to sprint toward the sheriff’s office, labelled “Station 7” by a large sign precariously hung over the door. Dusk was settling, and the beings who’d taken over the village would be seeking supper, which Bond didn’t intend to become. The distance shrunk considerably as he moved without stopping to glance at his pursuers. It was disturbing to see the faces of young and old, women and men, deteriorate with every passing day. 

A few steps more and he burst into the entrance hallway, briefly thankful that it seemed to be empty. Bond shut the door behind him and shoved the first hard object he found — a chair — under the door handle. He moved with precision, used to making decisions quickly and trusting his instincts, and this time it had served him well.

When he turned around, it was apparent that someone had already ransacked the place. It was empty, aside from a lonely desk in a corner with an even lonelier empty chair. 

Exhaustion crawled over the commander’s skin as he made quick work of surveying the two cells. Surely, the sheriff had become a victim, and Bond gave a bark of laughter when he realized that he had been hoping to find another human being. Supplies were important, but the oppressive silence, broken only by inhuman wails, was tiring him more than he thought. 

The pounding on the door began in earnest, and Bond dove for the desk. He opened the first drawer, drawing it out to confirm it was really empty. The second drawer was the same — the false bottom had even been removed. Bond pulled roughly on the third drawer, immediately recognizing by its weight that it was as empty as the others, when a small rattling noise made him pause as something fell to the floor. 

“I just need one bullet,” he growled as he sunk to his knees, adrenaline numbing the smart of the impact. He reached under the desk, where the item had rolled, and repeated his wish over and over again under his breath.

Finally, Bond's fingers curled around a small round object, and he sighed in relief. For one second, he let his forehead press against the cool wooden desk, allowing his slamming heart beat to drown out the moans coming from outside. He then simultaneously pulled out his gun and the bullet, thanking the heavens for that small mercy...

Before he began cursing as he realized that he wasn't holding a bullet, but the rounded part of an earpiece. He sank down in the sheriff's chair and bit his tongue until it bled, which only doubled the screams outside. The door was shaking under the pressure, but Bond couldn't do anything but turn the earpiece over and over between his fingers, and for once in his life, his mind went blank. 

As he studied the piece with complete detachment from his precarious situation, Bond's fingers brushed an indent. His nail caught on it, and he pressed firmly until the bent clip flipped to the “on” position. He was so focused on the device itself that he barely flinched when a window smashed open nearby. 

A voice then reached his ears. It was so faint that at first, Bond wondered if he was starting to lose his mind. Perhaps Alec had… No, he wouldn’t have done something to harm him, Bond was sure. The same intonation repeated something, so he hesitantly moved the earpiece up, until it was snugly fitted in his ear. 

He blinked in surprise when a succinct voice snapped out, "Station Seven?” A beat. “Station double-oh seven, can you hear me?" 

And then, another voice, "Cut the signal! It might be a creature. We don't want to send them our location." 

The closer voice immediately retorted, "We've already established that they're not intelligent, Mallory. They’re primitive and they only seek bodies." 

Bond heard the man called Mallory step closer, his voice becoming clearer. "Tell that to the last team you've sent to the their death at the district hospital, Quartermaster. Fifteen men and women, never to be seen again. Your so-called ‘primitive’ creatures ambushed them just as they reached the emergency supplies -- it wouldn't surprise me if they could figure out something as basic as an earpiece. And stop using my name — I should be “M” to you, now." 

The Quartermaster was silent for a long time, before Mallory gently ordered, "Cut the comms, Q." 

After a moment of hesitation, Bond's earpiece went dead.


	2. The Initial Connection

_The Quartermaster was silent for a long time, before Mallory gently ordered, "Cut the comms, Q."_

_After a moment of hesitation, Bond's earpiece went dead._

Bond knew the earpiece was battery-powered, so he shut off the device to keep as much of the precious energy as he possibly could. A surge of indignation made him scoff — this Q character was one of the biggest disappointment he’d ever experienced in his life. He’d have some words on trusting one’s instincts if they met someday.

“I’m going to find you,” Bond muttered as he carefully pocketed the device, “and I’ll make you regret cutting the comms.” 

It was an empty threat, but one that filled him with enough determination to turn around and make a dash toward the broken window. The creatures outside that lone opening wailed in terror as James Bond's body sailed through the space in an impromptu cannonball that reminded him of many summers at camp -- desperate situations and desperate measures, as they said.

Bond managed to roll through what could've been a rather painful landing. In the semi-darkness, it was easier to avoid the grappling fingers, but Bond nonetheless put every morsel of energy he had left in sprinting away from the building. The creatures immediately darted after him with a chorus of hungry -- starving -- wails. He dodged them easily, once again regretting the unfortunate incident that had happened the week prior. 

Alec had missed a step. Bond had been running ahead of them to open a gate, and Alec had simply tripped. The zombie was slow, but he’d been close enough to lunge for the fallen man’s leg. He’d just sunk his teeth for a second before the Walther’s bullet had ended whatever was left of its life. Trevelyan had simply gotten to his feet, and hadn’t said a word about it until admitting having a headache a few days later. 

It had been an accident. An accident had cost Trevelyan his life, his humanity. 

In a moment of reckless, angry energy, Bond turned and squarely punched the nearest zombie in the nose. The creature wailed and reeled backward — she was but a young teenage girl, and Bond felt sick to his stomach for hitting her. He remembered now why he didn’t look at them. No matter how the infection progressed, they still looked partially human, and it reminded him of simpler times when most the population hadn’t been turned.

Bond pushed his legs into a final sprint and made his way out of the small town. 

***

The nights were unmistakably the worst. Bond had forgone the use of his blanket as he huddled in a network of tree branches. They had looked sturdy enough hours ago, but now, a few threatening snaps had made him reconsider. It was cold, but he figured it would only get colder as fall progressed, and so he rubbed his arms periodically and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t waste a match.

It was the seventh creak of a tree branch that had him fish for his earpiece. He flicked it on and placed it in his ear, expecting nothing to come out of it but the soft, barely discernible hum of the machine itself. 

“Bloody hell!” 

The voice came so suddenly that Bond jerked upright, upsetting the branch he was sitting on. It cracked dangerously and Bond barely had time to grab another before it gave under his weight. He swore furiously as he swung down from the tree, landing badly on one of his legs. He sank to the ground, his back against the trunk, and tried to ignore how much that had hurt. 

“Station Double-Oh Seven?” Q’s curious voice resonated in Bond’s ear. He waited a while, and then sighed deeply and muttered, “Bloody useless thing is probably broken. If only I had a computer… Any computer…” Q swore softly, and Bond heard the creak of a chair. 

Bond was constructing a decent argument with himself about whether or not this was caused by severe dehydration when Q’s voice sounded in his ear. “M would probably kill me if he knew I was broadcasting this, but… I really bloody hope you’re human and not just an electrical malfunction, Double-Oh Seven. In the event that you are… human, I mean… I…” Q cleared his throat and lapsed in a heavy silence. 

“Are you alright, Q?” A female voice, this time. Bond frowned, brushing away the loose pebbles from his skin as the woman continued. “I heard your voice…?” 

Q then scoffed — an embarrassed sound laced with despair. “I’m talking to ghosts, Eve. All I have to tinker with are these dusty radios. One of the earpiece turned on a few minutes ago, and I keep bloody imagining that there’s a human on the other end.” 

“Eve,” Bond spoke quietly in the darkness, “if you tell him to cut the comms…” 

But Eve thankfully remained positive. “There might be, Q. Keep talking to them — I’m sure it helps, no matter the situation they’re in. We’ve tried to communicate with the zoms many times and they never seemed to understand any language, so even if it’s a creature who’s activated the earpiece, then there’s an excellent chance that you’re speaking pure gibberish.” Eve’s voice then grew in volume, as though she had placed her lips right near the microphone. “Hey, earpiece thief, you alright out there?” 

Bond’s face twitched in annoyance at Q’s snicker. He shivered again and mused on whether or not to use a damn match as he listened in on the banter between Q and Eve. 

“It’s zero zero seven,” Q was explaining. “I’ve named him after the station in which the earpiece had been left. Bit unoriginal, but considering we’re in the dark about his age and gender…” 

“Him? His?” Eve’s voice was teasing. “Wishful thinking, Q?” 

“Assumptions, of course.” Flustered. Q was flustered. 

Eve then began to mercilessly grill Q about a cute “Runner Two”, whoever they were, and Bond let the steady back and forth of jabs about men distract him. He soon fell asleep, and for once, his sleep was undisturbed by dreams or nightmares. 

When he woke up, the communication line was dead. 

***

It took three days for Q to return to the radio when Bond turned his earpiece on, but this time, he was speaking to someone else. Bond had washed in a creek and was letting the scorching sun dry his skin, and he closed his eyes and smirked at the chaos on the other end of the line.

“Oh, hell, this is a terrible idea, Eve,” he was grumbling. He approached the radio and spoke clearly, “Runner One, you… Eve, I can’t tell him the access code, what if he was detoured?” 

Eve’s reply was too far for Bond to understand. He did hear Q swear under his breath before saying, “Okay, so… Runner Four, please ignore this, I’ll come to you in a moment… Uh… I have — no, why did Twelve just connect? Miss, could you turn your earpiece off, this is incredibly distracting… Oh, boll— fine, stay on the bloody comms, see if I care. Alright. Yes, Eve, I’m— Runner One, your code is six, six, four, three — seven? No, oh hell.” He took a deep breath. “I am aware that Double-Oh Seven has reconnected, Eve. Runner One, your code is six, six, four, three, one, eight, nine. I repeat…” He rattled the numbers a few times, before groaning painfully. 

“We do need a better system,” Eve agreed nearby. 

“We need computers,” Q repeated. “Laptop, desktop… I’ll take a smart phone or an iPod. Anything at all. But no, Mallory insists on focusing on more food and more vaccines than we’ll ever need. I know it’s important, but I’m bloody useless with paper.” 

A terse silence followed that comment. Eve finally murmured, “I’m sorry, Q. I know you miss your tech.” 

Q exhaled sharply and coldly said, “Runner One, if you’re inside, then the supplies you’re looking for are down the hall to your…” He hesitated, and Bond heard him flip through paper frenetically. “… Eve, this isn’t the right page of the blueprints. This is the hospital north of us, not west.” 

Eve’s voice quieted as she walked away, asking Q what he needed. 

“You brought me the map to Janet E. McFarland, and I need the—” 

“Forget it.” Bond’s eyebrows lifted as he heard Mallory’s voice suddenly fill the room. “Runner Eleven came back. One didn’t even make it to the hospital.” 

What followed next was a mix of Eve’s attempts at cheering Q, and the Quartermaster’s insistence that he was fine. Eventually, he managed to shoo Eve away, and Bond sat in silence as he heard Q’s calm breathing slowly turn erratic. Moments later, Q fell apart, crying with as much restraint as he seemed to be able to muster. Eventually, Bond heard a crash, and he closed his eyes in despair as the man on the other end whispered apologies to a ghost who couldn’t Even hear him.

Q eventually fell asleep beside the radio. He occasionally whimpered in his sleep, plagued by night terrors, and Bond’s plans changed. He’d been to what the locals called the JEM hospital before, and knew he was only a few days away. When Q woke with a yell, Bond got to his feet and began to walk. 

He had a hospital name, an access code, and the knowledge that a high-placed officer at Q’s settlement wanted food and medication. He could work with that.


	3. Expensive Paperweights

"I'm going insane," the commander whispered to himself as he prepared his gun. He might not have any bullets left, but the weight of it reminded him of countless of fighting techniques. It was comforting and familiar. 

If he was completely honest with himself, Bond was eager to enter the hospital. He'd been sitting on its outskirts for an hour, now, to study the movements through the vast windows. The creatures were active tonight, but Bond was excited for the challenge. Being alone and inactive for so long, aside from his useless jogs or one-sided communication with Q, were taking a toll on him. Q hadn’t spoken to him in a full day, and Bond looked forward to the upcoming acing.

For one moment, he considered rushing in head first, without any strategy, to see if he could still work on adrenaline alone. 

He tested his patience for a full hour before he confirmed that the creatures' movements didn't hold a specific pattern. He was grossly outnumbered, and the creatures seemed excited by something inside, but the familiar rush of danger made him smirk. 

As soon as it was dark, he moved. 

Bond chose a side door that used to be made for employees -- he figured the creatures pooled around the entrance, and would only put a few guards near the side entrances. The handle was broken beyond repair; it looked more like a gaping hole with shards of metal than a door handle. Thankfully, a quick shove with Bond's shoulder made the door give without too much noise. As he went through, he noticed a keypad dangling from one single wire next to the door -- poor Runner One wouldn't even have needed Q's access code. 

The hallway was empty. Nonetheless, he walked slowly, with his Walther gripped in his hand, and one finger on the trigger. He heard moans in the distance, high pitched screams of desolation that only served to remind him of everything humanity had lost. 

"They're starving," Bond thought as he slipped into an empty reception area. The leather chair behind the main computer was covered in teeth marks, and the walls were stained with unidentifiable liquids. Bond swallowed past the nausea brought on by the smell of the place. 

Of course, hospitals had been a primary target. Most of the infected had shown up at the hospital, begging for treatment, and the hospital staff had done their best to curb the disease's spread. However, most hospitals became overwhelmed, and when the ratio of infected passed the halfway mark, there was often a mutiny. The shortage of doctors and nurses also contributed to the disease's spread. 

Bond found the supply room easily enough -- it was about the size of a one-car garage, with metal shelves lining the wall and a shuddering neon light. Bond left the door open to hear any upcoming footsteps and shrugged off his backpack before sliding the zip open. Steel blue eyes swept over the room, cataloguing what was left of the mess as he slid his gun into his trousers' back pocket. It was the creatures' work, most likely, or a human's frantic search for medicine. 

There were a few cans of food left, so Bond swept those into his pack first as he found them, taking care of stepping over the worst shards of broken glass that covered the ground like a rug. Once the easiest cans had been scavenged, Bond grabbed at a metal rail and pulled, testing its resistance. Satisfied that it would hold, Bond climbed the first few shelves, reaching the top where he'd spotted a few needles still in sterilized packages. 

The vials would be in a refrigerator, Bond knew, so he kept some room for the medicine. A few first-aid kits were stacked in a top corner of a shelf, so Bond shifted his weight on one foot and reached for the kits. 

The moment his fingers connected with the handle, he felt the shelf beneath him give. A wonderful screeching noise made him swear, and he grabbed three kits and jumped down. He opened them with efficiency and dumped the contents in his bag, before he dropped the empty kits, zipped up his backpack, and bolted for the door. Surely someone would've heard that; now that he had the supplies, Bond wasn't keen on staying around to find out. 

He rounded a few corners, heading into unknown hallways until he found another supply closet; Bond had to move on since there weren't any refrigerators. He ran for a few more minutes until he found what he had been looking for -- the antidote supply. 

It was a disheartening sight, since most crates had been smashed to bits. Bond swore again under his breath as he opened the only intact door and began to swiftly sort through the vials, desperate to find something that hadn't leaked or spoiled. The silence and the lack of creatures he'd encountered were making him nervous. He had seen the creatures run through the building earlier, so why they were dormant now was beyond him. Bond nonetheless continued his search, pushing aside glass and wiping stinging liquid from his fingers every few seconds. 

Most of the antidote liquid had turned a murky yellow, and Bond distinctly remembered that the vial should be -- 

"Clear," he whispered, reaching over to pluck a single vial from a cluster of broken ones. It seemed undamaged, and was still cold, and thus would be absolutely priceless. M would have no choice but to let him in their compound, now. Bond stood up and slid the vial into a side pocket of his backpack, ensuring it was snug between his folded blanket. Something felt wrong. He should have been detected by then. It was too easy. 

When he turned around, however, it all made sense. 

"Give me that." 

Bond remained incredibly stoic despite how quickly his heart had jammed in his throat upon seeing the figure only a few feet away from him. The man's dark skin glistened with sweat and his eyes were wild. Bond could see the blood drip down his body from a terrible gash on his stomach, and suddenly, the zombies' excitement of earlier made sense. They had detected supper. 

"You fool, you probably brought them straight here," Bond gritted through his teeth as he stepped back. 

"I need the medicine," the man gasped out. "They bit me this morning. It's almost too late." 

"It's probably too late already," Bond murmured. His bag felt like it weighed a ton. So did the empty gun. "I can't risk it when it could be used to save someone who got infected immediately. The success rate--" 

"I know the bloody success rate," the man screamed, and Bond cringed as the sound echoed in the small room. In a calmer voice, after a few gulps of air, the man pleaded, "It's worked miracles, before. Please, sir. I'll trade you anything -- everything -- I own." 

"I don't bargain with creatures," Bond murmured, remembering Alec's decision. The man was most likely at the stage where Alec had been in his final moments. Bond pointed his gun at the infected man, effectively stopping him from coming closer. 

In fact, the man now looked stricken. "I-- I don't want to die, I..." He bit his lip. "My name is Felix Leiter. I have a family. I just came here to find food -- I can't go back -- I need to see them..." He choked on the last word, and tears filled his eyes. 

Bond’s gun couldn’t shoot, so he did the next best thing — he threw it as hard as he could toward the infected man, making him scream in surprise. At that exact moment, the creature that had slipped in the room wailed and fell backward when the gun hit him in the face, and Bond sprung into action. He grabbed the man's sleeve and they began to run through the corridors as more creatures’ moans erupted nearby. 

Thankfully, the exit wasn't too far from the supply room; Bond and Leiter made it out easily. The commander stopped in the middle of the deserted land, surveyed the open area to ensure they were alone, and then turned to Leiter's shivering form. Without another moment's hesitation, Bond reached back for his backpack and pulled out the precious vial and a clean needle. He handed it to the man. 

Bond averted his eyes as the man arranged the antidote and plunged the needle in his arm, immediately sighing in relief as the liquid slowly spread through his body. He gave Bond a wobbly smile and sat down abruptly, before he began digging through his pockets.   
"Thank you, mister...?"

"Bond." 

"I have a match left, Mr. Bond," Leiter whispered. "I have a pocket knife. I have--" 

"I don't want your supplies," Bond replied coldly as he shouldered his backpack. "I need to leave -- I have to deliver these supplies to a community." 

"I want you to have them. I've never owed a debt in my life, and you probably could put these at a better use than I ever will. I have a house and a family; it's all I need." Although Bond knew that the antidote didn't work that fast, Leiter already looked like he felt much better. 

Bond's eyes swept through the possessions, understanding the desperation to return favours. He wondered what would be the least beneficial item to take when he saw Leiter pull something from his inside coat pocket, then dropping it back in. 

"That's what I want," Bond confirmed, pointing to the pocket. 

Felix flushed in embarrassment and pulled out the item. "It doesn't work anymore -- I just took it out of habit. It's broken and without the power chord. It's a bloody expensive paperweight, my friend. The matches are a much better deal for--" 

"If you are willing to part with it, then I'll take your paperweight in exchange for the serum." 

The two men looked at one another steadily, before Leiter pulled out the object and tossed it carelessly at Bond. With a final shrug, Leiter pocketed the rest of his items. "Suit yourself. I owe you dinner if ever you come by my village someday." 

"I'll hold you to that, Leiter." 

The two men parted, with Bond heading toward the general direction of where he assumed the settlement was, and Leiter toward his village. 

The antidote definitely hadn't been worth what Bond was holding, but he hadn't been able to resist. He had someone to surprise someday, and this would do the trick. 

Whistling softly to himself, Bond pocketed the broken iPhone and began to jog North.


End file.
